The Dividing Line Ch. 02

No, what concerned Ed MacCarley most was that Sara would be unjustly branded with shame by these self-serving hyaenas, that she would feel pain as a result of not knowing any better. There was, MacCarley knew, no better victim for this society to attack than a truly innocent victim. Especially if the victim was helpless.

So until Sara could make these distinctions on her own, Ed felt somewhat comfortable with the paternalism of his choice to protect her. She was a primitive in her way, certainly not by choice, but a blank slate nonetheless. And while he felt confident in his ability to lead her to a place where she could stand on her own, he was not at all sure of her ability to stand up to people who would only too gladly shove her back down into the darkness of their apathy.

And so, on the way back to the city, MacCarley was facing the music of choices, choices that were the consequence of his actions - but shaped by his understanding of societies aboriginal hypocrisy. When you stripped away the veneer of civilization, what grew visible within the grizzled flesh of humanity was truly vast and horrible in it's capacity to inflict pain. In this juxtaposed and angry frame of mind, he sat lost in thought, but very much aware of the gentle-fragile life next to him. Every protective instinct Ed had was focused on her survival, and the role he would play in her rebirth. He guided the little Triumph through the heavy traffic on drizzle-slick asphalt until he reached the apartment. As he turned into the parking lot he noticed immediately that something wasn't right; warning flags started popping left and right.

Ed unzipped his gym bag as he parked the car, picked up the little stainless Walther PPK/s he carried as a backup, leaving his holstered revolver inside the bag.. He looked around, noticed a car out of place, a man in the bushes. "Stay in the car, Sara," he said as he opened the door. He stepped out into the drizzle.

Almost immediately she heard an angry man's voice yelling. Yelling at Ed MacCarley, and she saw an older man step out of the bushes. She saw the gun rising in the man's hand . . . saw the drunk hatred oozing from his eyes . . . hear him yelling "they fired me, you mother fucker" as he pulled the trigger. Sara Wood saw flame barking from the man's big steel pistol.

Ed MacCarley had seen his old friend Alan Simpson emerge from the bushes, and had momentarily relaxed. In that infinite moment of uncertainty - the uncertainty that averts its eyes to betrayal - Ed MacCarley lost his edge. He hesitated.

He heard Simpson's yell, but could not understand the words - time had slowed so dramatically in the milliseconds of dawning awareness that only instinct had time to command reaction. His little Walther rose to meet the challenge.

Ed MacCarley could see Simpson's pistol recoiling, see the flame as it boiled out of the barrel in slow motion. He could see the bullet spiraling in toward his chest. Days later, it seemed, he could feel the burn spreading out across his left shoulder as the bullet tore into his flesh, could feel his body spinning under and away from the devastating impact. He felt his head bouncing off the pavement, could see the vibration of the world as his head came to rest.

Ed MacCarley watched as his friend Alan Simpson walked toward him, watched him as he lifted the gun up, up toward his head. He tried to say hello, but he felt light-headed, sick to his stomach. He watched, fascinated, as his friend continued to yell at him. 'I wonder what he's saying?' Ed MacCarley thought as the brightness settled in all around him.

Alan Simpson knew his enemy was dead when the first bullet struck, but he wanted to finish the job properly. As he walked over to Ed MacCarley, he was focused on the revenge he had been planning for days. He did not see the young girl in the car, did not see her digging around on the floor in front of her seat. He did not see her as she flew out of her door, or as she leveled the huge Smith & Wesson 44 magnum at his head. He never heard the hammer as it arced back under the pull of Sara Wood's finger, or as it slammed home, igniting the cartridge in the cylinder. It is doubtful he ever heard the roar of the gun, or felt the silver-tipped hollow-point bullet as it tore into the left side of his neck.

Maybe he heard a fragmented voice off in the distance, heard the fury of the girl's words. Heard her calling him a mother fucker again and again. By the time the girl fired the remaining five bullets into pulpy mess of the man's head, there was no Alan Simpson left to hear or see or feel or hate or love.

There was no sun.

There was only darkness.

Sara Wood dropped the gun and flew to Ed's side, cradled his motionless head in her lap. She looked up at the sky and screamed. She was screaming as the ambulance arrived. Screaming as paramedics ran to Ed's side.

She screamed as they pushed her out of the way, back into the shadows.

She screamed as hundreds, thousands, millions of police cars and ambulances arrived.

She was frantic. She couldn't remember the words.'High vibration go on . . .'

'And you were standing next to me'

She watched as the men over Eddie tore away his shirt. One of the men stuck a huge needle in his arm.

'And you were standing next to me'

She stared in mute horror as another man took a knife and stabbed Eddie in the chest, then stuck a pair of funny looking scissors in the hole he had made, leaving a long rubber tube dangling from his chest. Another man was putting a mask on Eddies face as blood gushed from the tube.

'And you were standing next to me'

"And you were standing next to me," Sara Wood yelled. "Eddie! I'm here! I will never leave you." She ran after him as they lifted him into the helicopter that had landed in the street.

*

October 28^th

The department Chaplain stood outside Ed MacCarley's hospital room with Thomas Hardy, Ed's friend and watch commander. They talked quietly about the old days, about honor and hatred. About life and death, about all the funerals for officers and friends they had been to. And the funerals yet to come.

Ed sat up in the hospital bed, a tangled mass of tubes and leads sprouting forth from every arm and leg, from his penis, and all over his chest. His eyes were half open, and he breathed on his own today, after seven days on a respirator.

Sara Wood sat in a chair next to the bed, asleep, her head almost face down on the bed, next to Ed's hand. The last words she had heard from him were to 'stay in the car'. That felt like a lifetime ago.

She had been sitting in the chair next to him since he had come out of surgery, which had lasted almost fourteen hours. At some point in time over the last few days she had stopped crying. She had held his unresponsive hand in hers for so long it had started to cramp, and a nurse had rubbed the cramps away for her. Hardy had brought her a little machine that played music, and he had shown her how to play songs on it. She had learned quickly, and learned how to use the uncomfortable things over her ears, as well.

She only listened to one song.

"Oh, Eddie. Come back to me," she whispered. "I'm here, Eddie."

She felt his fingers lift off the bed, find her hair.

She froze, wanting to believe what she had felt, afraid to find that she had imagined it.

The distant fingers rose into her hair, drew closer to the infinity of chance.

He felt. . . what? Her hair? He felt her hair, knew the texture of it in his heart.What is that smell?! God, my mouth is dry. It's too bright, can't see. He felt the world move, and then she was there. She was looking at him.

"It's O.K. Eddie, I'm here. You've been fighting real hard, but you're gonna make it."

"Hey, partner!"

Is that Tommy? What are you doing here?

"Man, buddy, you've given us one hell of a scare. But you're doing better, ya know, its gonna get better every day."

It's O.K., Tommy, just relax, willya?

"I'm going to leave you two together now, partner. But I hope you know she saved you, Ed. She's just been an angel. Now, get some rest, I'll bring some of the guys down tomorrow, OK? And, hey, Meathead sends his love."

He looked up at Tommy as he left.

He drifted in and out of the currents of time, floated as a waterborne leaf down a gentle river.

He felt something slip over his ears, something warm.

He felt his soul come alive as the piano burst into his ears, heard the voice.

As involuntarily as he now breathed, he felt the tears of remembrance dance across his eyes.

Sara Wood watched as the music played across his face, watched as he drifted into that place he went. She watched the music of his life play across the love of her life, and she now knew that with love comes pain, but that it is through both love and pain that we grow.

Ed MacCarley drifted through the music of that special life, soared through the peaks of human experience, glided on sun-swept airs of sweet sleep on the gentlest of wings. He held himself to the warmth of that love he felt, to the light in Sara Wood's eyes. He could hear the music of her smile, feel the touch of her skin on his. He felt the dream yield to the rush of music, felt the moment of his birth among the stars.

He felt the moment of his awakening.

It was when I saw you there, curled up on your side, in that alley.

He looked up into her eyes. They glowed in amber light.

How did you know I needed to be saved?

And I would never have guessed you were an angel. Oh, my love.

*

December 21^st

The little orange 737 touched down in Las Vegas, and two souls who had been lost once upon time walked through the terminal, and out to the street. They walked to a huge flaming pink Cadillac, and crawled through the parted front seat into the back. The two souls talked to the man and the woman in the front seat as they headed off into the city.

They soon came to a little chapel. The two souls and the man and the woman walked into the chapel, down the aisle as music payed. They came to the end of this road as two, and stood before the Man of God, waiting to be united.

The Man of God was wearing a huge-collared white leather suit, his big, black hair slicked back, standing there in outrageous sunglasses and platform shoes.

The Elvis-God read the words of passage, and the two souls repeated the words, looking into each others eyes, looking to the eternal innocence of pure love as their salvation. They kissed, they looked at the man and woman, their friends in this life.

"Thanks for doing this, Tommy," Ed MacCarley said to his friend.

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world, Ed."

The two men shook hands, hugged one another. The women hugged for what seemed a long time, and the older woman kissed the younger woman on the cheek, told her to "take care of that man."

Two souls - now one. Lost to time's embrace, setting out on their journey together.

Hand in hand, they walked toward from whence they had come.

"Wait, Eddie, I wanted to thank that preacher," Sara MacCarley said.

Ed looked over his shoulder. "That ain't gonna be happening, darlin."

"Why not, Eddie?"

"Well, because, darlin'," Ed MacCarley said, "Elvis has left the building."

* * *

The author wishes to acknowledge the lyrics to Awaken, by Yes, from the recording Going for the one, copyright 1977. As an aside, the author thanks all those who have written to him over the past few weeks concerning the original story, The Dividing Line. He would like those who might be interested to know that for some strange reason his wife is many years younger than he, but that she really enjoys living on a sailboat. And yes, he was a cop, once upon a time. And do you really have to ask what the sailboat's name is?